Chronicles of War

[Kozgugore]

A chronological set of stories that will be leading the next big war. Thread is still WIP, but enjoy for as far as I've come so far!

• 1. Council at Everlook
• 2. The Burning of Mulgore

More to come! And on a side note, others will be of course free to add their own piece, should they want to (though a fresh topic for their own story is of course an option as well).

[Kozgugore]

“It has already been a long time since we last spoke of a reason for peace. Such talks first came to pass when first word of a plague reached our ears, and them were without success. Even now, I think we were fools to reject them, while warriors and civilians were being caught by a dishonourable plague.
Grom knows why. But with the recent events, I reckon it clear for all of us peace be the only suitable option if we are to overcome our common enemy. The Lich King will take any of our dead and bring them to his own ranks. The dead in Dragonblight, the dead in Icecrown. No corpse will be spared when it comes to the Scourge.
So now we must choose. Do we continue slaughtering each other just so we can pretend we be so different from each other, or do we cease all hostilities, perhaps even join forces one day, and crush the Lich King before any of us have to bother ourselves with each other’s opinions?... Not that I would care for any of yours. No doubt some crazy would find a simple difference between orc or human alike reason enough to risk an open war between the Alliance and the Horde again. But we cannot allow mere dogs like them to risk all we work for. The battle at the Undercity has only proven all this. It were not the Forsaken who be allied to the Horde that attacked you. Them attacked both of us. And them be no part of the Horde. Them be our enemies. And our enemies will be crushed.
So now, the choice be ours. And only we can pass on the message to our brothers and sisters. Will we continue to allow the Scourge to win this war, and take over the entire world? Or set aside our differences just this once, so our brothers, sisters and pups can live without endless conflict?”
The chieftain gazed around the room. The orc’s bowels boiled in anticipation, the sweat underneath his ragged wolf mask well-hidden from the audience as he awaited their answer. The Alliance representatives, some shaking their heads, some nodding in approval, chattered amongst each other, only a few words of their Common speech recognizable to the orc.

Finally, after what seemed at least two hours, the Alliance gathering turned to its Horde counterpart again, both facing each other in this unusual, goblin hut, normally intended for engineering or trading purposes in this remote region known as Winterspring. A grey, weathered human warrior clad in plate, recognizable from past battles with orc and troll alike, stepped forward and, even to the unknowing chieftain, the tone of his voice was enough to announce the orcs their decision. Nevertheless, the interpreter, being Grandmaster Nathinios Blackfeather of the Fraternity, translated the old warrior’s words, albeit not without giving his own objections to the decision already, for the orcs to hear.
“As we feared, the grudges prevailed. Too many on our side disagree… Sadly, we don’t have a vote in this.”
Both angered and disappointed by the Alliance’s ways, the chieftain steps up and motions a hand at the gathered Alliance delegation, motioning the Grandmaster to translate his words for them to hear.
“We accept the truce with those who be smart enough to offer it. But make sure them know this,” the chieftain said, not really paying any attention to the Grandmaster whether or not the words are being translated. “The Horde did not warrant the next war that be upon us. Let it be known that it were not the orcs who were the aggressors this time. If you choose to remain on your own and suffer the consequences, so be it. But if I ever have word of more pale dogs threatening peaceful Horde lands this time around, we will not offer the same terms as we did today.
We will act, and the many wasted dead at the Wrathgate and the Icecrown itself will have all been in vain. No doubt many more be to follow. That mountain of corpses in front of the very first wall defending the Icecrown will grow. Until there be no Alliance or Horde alike left to battle the Scourge.
Let it be known that this time, it was not the Horde that warranted the downfall of this world. If any of you be to openly threaten the Horde's lands after our offer, the pack will rise up to defend its lands.”
With this, the wolf masked orc slightly bows his head, and addresses himself to the draenei priestess and old human in front. “Me thanks to the Abjurer and the captain for some sense of understanding. As for the rest of you, whether you have been an honourable foe in the past or not, pray to whatever gods you have we will not one day meet on the battlefield.”

Even before the chieftain’s speech has ended, both angry and confused voices fill the room, throwing accusation at each other and each showing the other how misled or foolish they are. As for the orcs, their job here was done. Following the already grumbling chieftain, they left the building, and slowly made their way back to whatever home they had, preparing themselves for whatever conflict there is to come, in their own way while the chieftain’s grumbling voice was enough to mark tonight’s events.
“Let it be known we, the Horde, did not commission this war.
Let it be known we did what we could to prevent it, and protect our earth from both undeath and conquer.
Let it be known the Red Blades and the Covenant will stand up and fight for what so many gave them lives for.
Let future generations know that we, brave few, did everything we could to bring the orcish race peace. Let them know we will give our lives knowingly, so them will have a brighter world to walk upon.”

[Kozgugore]

“We choppa dem belly uf widdem axe, take dem pups an’ stitch’r back tugethur!”
Once again, both male orcs were bursting out in laughter as the female strode up in front, grumbling at the two merry-making orcs for their incompetence when it comes to giving birth. What would they know anyway? For chieftain Kozgugore and his Rrosh-tul Gruulg, war has always been the center of their life. Perhaps it was exactly that what made Kozgugore’s mate, Morgeth, so special, being the first pregnant orc the tribe had surely seen for years.
Even now, on a sunny, quiet day in the Barrens, they were making their way to Bloodhoof village in Mulgore to seek out the counsel of the tauren, hoping they could grant the pregnant she-orc some insight when it comes to the already kicking pup’s birth.
“Oblah! Wha’ would y’kno’ ‘bout ‘t anyway! “I’ve seen worgs give birth from afar”! PFAH!”
With a snort, the female strode forward as the three mounted orcs pass Camp Taujaro, the smoke from peaceful bonfires rising up high into the sky. It's days like this that the old chieftain treasured the most. A quiet ride in the Barrens with friendly orcs always calmed his ever-grumbling mind, and the prospect of a pup of his own kept enthralling him more with each passing day. Up until now, it had always been senseless bloodshed and war. These are high times for change. Having been one of few lucky orcs who still saw Draenor in all its tranquil glory, Kozgugore knew well how to value times of peace and raising a family. After all, he had lost all of his in the wars that were to come. Now, he had the chance to do it all over again, and even as they bickered, he knew deep inside he valued every single piece of it.
As the male orcs kept on teasing the leading she-orc, their hearty laughs filling the sky as the she-orc, too, could no doubt help but snicker at some of their snide comments, the yellow, steppes slowly made way for a more lush green, and it wouldn’t take long for the orcs to make their way into Bloodhoof village, happily accepting the welcoming tauren’s hospitality with free water and fresh food for both orc and wolf alike, while in the meantime Morgeth would visit the local shaman for advice to her pregnancy. Orgrimmar would have done just as well for that, but Morgeth insisted they’d come here, seeking out some peace and quiet no doubt not only for herself, but to give the grumbling chieftain, still grumpy about the failed attempts to make peace with the Alliance only two days ago, some rest as well.
And the rest was well-needed. After a drink and some food, the elder orc was quick to simply slump against a lone tree and fall asleep whilst his mate attended to her own important business here. It would be another two hours before he was well awakened again, his mate sitting beside him as the sun would slowly start to settle underneath the distant mountain peaks. But it was then that an urgent message arrived from Camp Taurajo: Raiding humans dressed in the colours of the Alliance attacked! Still half-asleep, the shocked chieftain confusedly waves his hands around as he started barking out orders. “Grom-… What! We muster at Thunder Bluff! Damned, backstabbing crazies! This be too soon!”

No more than a minute after the warning had been given, orcs and tauren alike were spreading the word and gathering their arms to prepare for the potential threat of the spotted Alliance army. Why would they want to attack an unimportant area like Mulgore? Why so soon, only two days after they had engaged with the Alliance for talks about a possible ceasefire, so they could instead deal with the Lich King up north? Most especially, why now? Why now, when the orcs went to Mulgore for such peaceful and happy intentions? These were all questions that raced through the chieftain’s mind as he prepared himself for battle as best he could in all this chaos. The lowest trade tier of Thunder Bluff was filled with armour-clad orcs and nonorcs, as he would often term them, alike when he stepped outside and eyed whatever few warriors they managed to gather in such little time to repent the sudden Alliance hostilities.
“Listen here!” the chieftain bellowed at the few who managed to answer the call for help, still slightly hazy and confused by the sudden change of events… and certainly angered. “We be few, but we all know these Alliance be of no more use than an orcling with a stick! We stick together and ride quickly! Send them possums back underneath mother’s skirt!”
Approving cheers erupted, and the orcs were quick to mount their wolves as they made their way to Bloodhoof village.
Unfortunately, Bloodhoof was indeed not a sight for sore eyes. They had already arrived too late. Barely anything was left of the village the chieftain and his mate, along with his guard and Rrosh-tul Gruulg had arrived at only a little two hours ago. Tents were burned, supplies were looted and guards run through as the warriors of the Horde strode their way through the village, looking for any survivors, tauren or human alike. The chieftain’s wolf made its way past the great tent in the center of the village, and nearly dared not watch to see if the very tauren who had helped determine the possible delivery of his mate’s pup were dead as well, hoping they could have possibly made their way out of this dramatic onslaught.
There wasn’t much time to linger any longer, however. As an orc further down the village inspected the Alliance’s dead, it soon became clear these were indeed humans clad in the Alliance’s legitimate armour and colours. Knowing that, it would no doubt be easy to follow the Alliance’s tracks, knowing the carelessness of their movements. Without too much further ado, the Horde force gathered again and set out to track the Alliance’s movements all the way to Red Cloud Mesa.
But even there, the fires of plunder and slaughter could be seen in the distance already. Either the Horde was too late, or these Alliance didn’t know any pause in their raiding. They must be dead tired by now and thus, the trap was set…

“This be it! For the Matriarch! For the Blood of the Tribe! For the Horde!”
Like a carpet, the weary Alliance forces were soon swept off the road as a wave of orc and wolf alike hit the Alliance’s flank. It was as they suspected: These Alliance were already tired from all the constant plundering and killing, not to mention caught slow and unprepared to face a force like this with all the spoils of war by their side. Only few would stand and fight while the others were quick to abandon their spoils and routed. Only few of them were to live, however, as the road back to the Barrens would soon be filled with a makeshift carpet of fallen routing soldiers, while whatever few who were quick and smart enough to run too far ahead were left unharmed by the Horde to spread the word.
The fighting had ended as quickly as it started, and while orcs and elf and tauren alike celebrated in their victory, although at the price of the burnt down huts and murdered tauren, the chieftain couldn’t help but think what made these Alliance attack so soon. And then, even for the Alliance’s standards, these were as quick to both plunder and murder civilians as they were to rout. The aged orc’s pondering was soon left to rest, however, as it suddenly struck his mind.

Morgeth.

He rushed onward, and as he fell to his knees, a loud, desperate roar at the blood covering his mate’s pregnant stomach: a spear, struck in the side. His eyes ran bloodshot at the grief in this supposed ‘hour of glory’, whilst the she-orc raised a trembling hand to his face, attempting to ask this orc for forgiveness.
The following hour, little would be heard on the Mulgore plains, save for the orc’s agonized and desperate crying. Whatever the Alliance’s motives, the world is yet to see anything like the fury of an angry orc parent. Hell hath no fury like an orc terrorized.

[Morgeth]

((Lovely writing, as always. You have a way of describing strife that's far beyond my own skills, but I enjoyed your recapturing of the ride with Gruulg equally. Very epic, chiefy! Moar orc propaganda!))